Monday, August 13, 2007

Garden Rose (Kris Delmhorst)

I had a very full weekend... my husband's out of town until tomorrow evening... I think I'm coming down with some sort of cold or flu bug... my son Eric is leaving Friday to go back to college... I'm under-rested and overwhelmed... went into work late and left early - not sure how to describe my feelings other than out of sorts... discombobulated... not quite focused? Have decided to spend about 30 minutes catching up on e-mail and then popping 3 extra-strength Tylenol and crawling between the covers - will probably take the phone off the hook to avoid interruption. The way I feel, I could very well sleep straight through until tomorrow morning - bliss...

POEM: Thistles by Louise Erdrich

Under ledge, under tar, under fill
under curved blue stone of doorsteps,
under the aggregate of lakebed rock,
under loss and under hard words,
under steamrollers
under your heart,
it doesn't matter. They can live forever.
The seeds of thistles
push from nowhere, forming a rose of spikes
that spreads all summer until it
stands in a glory of
needles, blossoms, blazing
purple clubs and fists.

QUOTE: "What is a weed? A plant whose virtues have not yet been discovered." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

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